The cool glass reflects my gaze, steady and intense. It’s late, the house is quiet, but for me, the workday is far from over. This isn’t just a physical grind, it’s a mental one, a constant battle to stay ahead, to master every nuance. “I attempt to recite the plays to myself as I stand in front of the mirror in order to prepare for the next day,” says Lamar Jackson. That’s the real talk. This isn’t just some actor’s monologue; it’s a quarterback’s truth, the unseen work that fuels the on-field magic.
People see the jukes, the broken tackles, the impossible throws, the MVP awards. They don’t see the hours in front of this mirror, dissecting every single play from the playbook. Every route concept, every protection scheme, every read. It’s about building a mental library so vast and so deeply ingrained that when the chaos of the game hits, it’s not chaos at all – it’s just the unfolding of what I’ve already seen, already processed a thousand times over.
This mirror is my silent coach, my harshest critic, and my most reliable confidante. When I stand here, holding the playbook, the words on the page are just symbols at first. My job is to bring them to life, to internalize them so completely that they become instinct. I start with the formations, visualizing our guys lining up. Where’s Mark Andrews? Zay Flowers? How’s the offensive line set? Is Derrick Henry in the backfield? Every detail matters.
Then, I go through the motions. “Shotgun, Trips Right, Z-Cross.” I’ll drop back, maybe a quick three-step, feeling the rhythm of my feet even on this carpet. I’m not throwing a ball, but I’m mimicking the release, picturing the ball spinning, hitting Zay in stride across the middle. The mirror shows me my posture, my balance, the subtle shifts in my body weight. Am I leaning too much? Is my arm slot consistent? Even small discrepancies here can throw off accuracy when it counts. It’s all about muscle memory, making it second nature so I don’t have to think about it when a 300-pound lineman is bearing down on me.
But it’s more than just the physical mechanics. This is about the “read” process. Football is a chess match, and as the quarterback, I’m the grandmaster. I’m visualizing the defense. Is it Cover 2? Cover 3? Man coverage? Blitz coming from the strong side? I talk myself through the progressions: “First read is the tight end on the seam. If he’s covered, check the slot receiver on the out route. If that’s taken away, look for the running back on the check-down.” I’ll even simulate the defender’s movements, imagining a cornerback bailing out, a linebacker dropping into coverage, a safety rotating over the top.
The mirror helps me gauge my eyes. Are they staying focused? Am I scanning the field efficiently? Am I telegraphing my intentions? That’s critical. A slight glance can give away a read to a savvy defensive back. So I practice keeping my eyes disciplined, moving through the progressions smoothly, making sure my head doesn’t turn before the ball is released. It’s a dance, a subtle art of deception and precision.
The self-talk is constant. I’ll voice my thoughts, my decisions, even my frustrations. “No, Lamar, you missed that read. He was open on the corner route. Go back. See it again.” I rewind the play in my head, correcting the mistake, running it again until I get it right. It’s a relentless pursuit of perfection, even if perfection is never fully attainable. You just keep chasing it.
Sometimes, I’ll put on game film on my tablet and play it in front of the mirror. I’ll pause it at the snap, then talk through my reads before the play unfolds on screen. It’s like a mental scrimmage, pushing myself to react at game speed, even in the stillness of my room. When the play runs, I compare my read to what actually happened. Did I see what the defense was giving us? Did I make the right decision? Could I have found a better option?
This isn’t just about preparing for a play; it’s about preparing for any play. Our offense is complex, dynamic. We run a lot of different looks, and I need to be able to seamlessly transition between them, reacting to what the defense is doing. The mirror helps me visualize the entire flow of the game, anticipating situations. Fourth and short, red zone, two-minute drill. What plays are in the playbook for those moments? How do I execute them under immense pressure?
It’s also about staying calm under duress. The mirror shows me my expression. Do I look flustered? Am I holding onto the ball too long? Am I taking unnecessary hits? I’m visualizing the pressure, the defenders rushing, but I’m maintaining composure. That calm, that steady gaze, it translates onto the field. My teammates feed off that energy. If I’m confident, they’re confident.
There’s a spiritual aspect to it too, honestly. I talk to God. I pray for guidance, for clarity, for strength. This isn’t just about football; it’s about life. And how you approach one often mirrors how you approach the other. You gotta have faith in your preparation, but also in something bigger than yourself. That brings a different kind of calm, a deeper level of assurance.
The words “This will be my last ride” from Ray Lewis? That resonated. Not because I’m thinking about retirement, but because it’s about leaving it all out there, every single snap. That intensity, that commitment, it’s what drives you. When I’m in front of this mirror, I’m embodying that mindset. This isn’t just about throwing touchdowns; it’s about winning championships. It’s about being the best version of myself, for my teammates, for the city.
The clock ticks past midnight. My eyes might be tired, but my mind feels sharper, more focused. The playbook, once a collection of diagrams and words, now feels like a living, breathing entity within me. The routes are etched into my muscle memory, the reads are firing instantly, the potential defensive looks are already cataloged and accounted for.
I take one last look in the mirror. It’s not just me anymore. It’s the quarterback, ready for whatever tomorrow brings. The work is done. The plays are recited. And the objective? To emerge victorious. That’s always the objective.
